An Old New Friend A Deadly Journey
by GTRaist
Summary: Raist and the group run into trouble in the woods. Turns out to be only the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

A.N- This is the first time I've ever let a large group of people read anything I wrote, so criticism would be nice. Review please! Even if you thought it was horrible. I plan on making this into a chapter story, so leave me notice if you think this is a good/bad decision.

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Dragonlance, nor do I own any rights to it.

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He walked into the clearing. He could tell something was different here…he could _feel_ it. There was a chill in the air. He tensed inside his robes, drawing them closer to his frail body. The cough tore from his weak lungs into the chilled air, making far more noise than could possibly be good and he cursed his broken body again. Raist had always been a frail boy, though it had gotten worse after almost dying during the Test. Turning, he looked to find Caramon, his twin brother, who had all the physical capabilities Raistlin himself envied: the looks, the muscle, and the good health; therefore, Caramon always looked after Raist. But he was not here now.

Raistlin was confused…Hadn't he just been right beside him? Hadn't he been able to feel his brother's helping hand gently secured to his elbow? Where could he have possibly gone? And where were the others? They had all moved towards the clearing together, Raistlin's shattered health leaving Caramon to help him, both bringing up the rear of the small group. He had glanced down, ensuring his footsteps, careful not to trip on the soft, mossy undergrowth in this forsaken stretch of woods, and they were gone.

He forced his mind to think. There had to be some reasonable explanation. He was an intelligent man, possibly one of the most intelligent. He could figure this out…

That's when the chill returned…Only it was much closer, more intense than before. It caused his breath to rattle inside his small chest, his golden body struggling to stay upright. He clutched his staff tightly, using its sturdiness to steady him until he could control the coughing spasms that one again wracked him from the unnatural cold. He was fighting to breathe, hoping against hope he was wrong. Being a creature of magic as he was, he was quite attuned to things of this nature. If only he hadn't been lost in thought! As the spasm concluded, he looked from side to side while tucking the freshly red-stained cloth back into his robes. Ah…yes, there. Undead soldiers. More than a dozen. _How could I not have sensed them? _he raged. _Am I blind?_ Furious with himself for being caught off guard, and furious with Caramon for his abrupt disappearance, he stood upright, his fury overpowering his health. The several warriors already visible were surrounding the clearing, careful not to enter it just yet. He knew he could not win if their intentions were malicious, but he knew he had to try. He refused to die without a fight, his body lost in some unknown woods to fade into oblivion. His snarl cut through the air. _What a shameful way to die!_

The skeletal beings began materializing in greater force, those that had lingered on the edge of the realm of the living crossing over fully until their shimmering bodies could be seen. And felt. The cold was all he could feel. His shivering making it difficult to think clearly. He knew he had to control himself. The slightest misspoken syllable of magic due to shivering could be his death. His sharp mind began to recall all the spells he thought might have an effect upon such creatures, and he vowed to die within his magic rather than at their ghostly hands. This thought, having a plan, however dire, gave him strength, and he straightened completely as a single undead stepped forward. His gait was easy. So easy in fact, he seemed to float, no, _shimmer_ across the uneven ground, the trees behind him only mostly obscured like looking through blue-tinted glass. He did not move slow or fast, just gracefully, his form crossing the gap between him and the robed form with no effort; He barely seemed to move. Slowly, his movements became more sluggish, until he was stopped altogether. His head cocked in confusion, a movement familiar of his human life, not understanding why he had stopped. Gradually, the robed figure, whose head had slightly drooped at the approach of the otherworldly fiend, met his eye. The smirk there was reflected clearly on his lips, his murmured spell having drawn to successful conclusion. But the skeletal being would not be so easily stopped…

The skeleton was hardly to be stopped by such a simplistic spell. Several others joined him and placed their hands onto the invisible wall, pushing it into itself. The sudden strain on the wall echoed in Raistlin's face. His lips drew back into a tight line, a sheen of sweat glistening on his upper lip and brow. He knew he could not hold his wall much longer, and his attempt at delaying the inevitable seemed more foolish now than he originally intended. With a sudden surge of energy, he expanded the wall, forcing the nether creatures backwards. As the wall dissipated, another spell was already sliding off his numbing lips, his hand withdrawing a sprig of parsley from a pouch at his side. Tossing the parsley upward as his spell released, his other hand making a sweeping gesture towards three of the advancing undead.

The three were effortlessly tossed to the edge of the clearing, the force of the magic greater than anticipated. But he was too late. He had subdued only three; many more remained. He felt the chill intensify above his left shoulder just before the hand clutched him, its unnatural chill fighting his unnatural heat. He knew he was lost...

When he woke, he could feel the warmth of several blankets on him. His brain tried to make sense of the last few moments before he collapsed, certain of his death. He could think of no explanation, so he turned to his surroundings, hoping there might be something to brighten his understanding. He was in a small tent, the flap pulled closed. Looking to his left, he saw his brother lying beside him, similarly covered. His lips were bluish from the chill of the undead hands. The rhythm of his breathing was steady, though his breathes were not quite as deep as normal. He would survive, Raist knew. He heard rustling outside the tent, and the flap was pulled aside. Tanis slid in, his face grim. As he noticed Raistlin's open eyes, though, his frown turned into a sigh of relief.

"Welcome back."

"Much thanks, Tanis."

Though his voice was only ever a whisper, it carried through the tent as clearly as Tanis' had. Evidently, Tanis was not alone. Suddenly, a flash of blue, and Tasslehoff Burrfoot was at his side.

"Did it hurt, Raistlin? Were you scared? I thought they were so cool! They way they shimmer. They don't even seem to walk, really. Is that how they usually are? Wh…"

His voice slowly faded into silence as he caught the glare in Tanis' eyes. With a sigh that came from his small, red-shoed feet, Tas walked back outside the tent. Tanis half-ducked out with him and whispered something. Whatever the secret, it was obviously not a reprimand. Tas' face lit up and he ran off, half-skipping. Raist let his mind wander off to his last memories before waking here, trying to make some sense of it all. As he came back to the present and focused on the redbearded half-elf standing in front of him.

"Make it make sense, Tanis." He said, his golden complexion twisting in confusion. Tanis smiled, "It will." The tent flap fluttered lightly, as if a small breeze had shifted it, and Tas was standing beside Tanis again.

"I got him, Tanis. Just like you said. And I didn't tell anyone else." He reported, his childlike features straining to appear as serious as possible. Tanis smiled as the tent flap was slowly opened again. An old man in mouse-colored robes ducked inside with more agility than expected of someone his age. The man's smile shown from his face, and his misshapen hat barely missed brushing the top of the tent.

"Ah. Now I understand." Whispered Raistlin. Fizban's grin only widened.

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Remember - Review!


	2. Chapter 2

I hope for more reviews this time. I was disheartened to see many hits, yet only one review. Please, tell me what you think, even if only to say it was good or bad. Of course, criticism would be very nice, and much appreciated, but I really just want to see if people are actually reading this.

Also, thanks to Solkongen for reviewing!

Again, I disclaim. I own nothing.

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Raist closed his eyes, and his sigh rattled in his throat.

"Why are you here, old man?" He said through his smirk, "Not that I'm ungrateful."

Fizban chuckled.

"You'd have rather been saved by someone else, eh? Can't say I blame you." His wrinkles deepened with his smile. "Though I must say, not just anyone could have saved you, boy. Marvelous spell…"

His eyes lost focus for a second. His wistful reminiscence was frightening, yet benign. They all knew the old man would never hurt them…intentionally. Yet, his plans had a tendency to misfire. It was quiet for a moment as the group allowed his reverie, but finally, Tanis let escape a small cough, bringing Fizban back to the present.

"What's that? Oh, yes…where was I?" His eyes wandered down to the twins covered forms. "Ah yes! Saved you, didn't I?" He chuckled again.

"I want an explanation, old one."

Fizban's chuckle intensified, though Raist could not see the joke.

"In due time, my boy. In due time. This is a story for everyone, and I want everyone to hear it."

"A story!?"

"Yes, little one," said Fizban, placing his hand on Tas' topknot. "A very important one." And with that, he turned and left, Tas following behind him, his stream of questions relentless.

"What kind of story, Fizban? Why's it so important? Is it a scary? Do you think…"

As Tas' voice drifted away, Tanis moved his hand up to his face, his fingers rubbing his temples. It didn't help. The tension was still making his head pound. "Any ideas?"

"None," came the whispered reply. "Or, none that are logical, I should say."

"It's Fizban, Raist. What does _logic_ have to do with anything?"

Raistlin could feel his eyes drooping. His body had not quite recovered it's near death trauma. He let them close, mumbling to Tanis, "I know nothing, Tanis. The old man is quite the mystery."

"Hmph. Maybe so. But you still understand him better than the rest of us. And I think it's more than just a magician to magician respect. You _know_ something."

Raistlin's golden eyes did not open.

"And you're not going to share, are you?"

"I know little, then, Tanis." He heard Tanis' sigh of frustration, followed by the sound of angry footsteps disappearing. And he drifted into slumber.

He awoke to a coughing fit. He reached up to his face, taking hold of the blanket and bringing it closer. His spasm finally passed, and he could see a dark blood stain on the fabric. He closed his eyes again, letting his breath become more normal. He could smell something cooking over the fire outside his cloth refuge. He couldn't tell exactly what it was, but it didn't smell appetizing. He was in no hurry to get to the food, as he wouldn't – couldn't - eat any of it, regardless of smell. He would wait until the others had eaten and then he would make his potion, before his cough killed him. Suddenly, he heard the tent open and felt gentle hands on his shoulder, his brother's voice inquiring if he was ok.

"When did you wake, Caramon?" he inquired back, avoiding what he considered to be a rhetorical question. _Of course I'm not ok! What healthy person coughs up blood? What healthy person cannot _

_breathe without it catching in his chest? When have I ever been ok? And when will I ever? _His snarl broke through his thoughts into his speech. He could feel his brother's cringe in his reply.

"I smelled the food cooking earlier. I thought I'd let you sleep, but then I heard your cough and…"

"Enough. I'm fine now." His voice was cutting. _Why does he consistently remind me how helpless I am? _

The tent flap opened again. Tas was standing there, looking excited. "Story time, Raistlin! Fizban said to get you. Come on, Caramon! I bet it's about dragons! Oooh, or maybe…"

His voice cut off when he caught Raistlin's glare.

"I'll wait with Fizban," he said, and disappeared through the opening with a noise. He could hear the irrepressible kender start to skip along as soon as he was gone.

"Can I help you, Raist?"

"No, Caramon. I'll be there shortly. Go on." Again, his brother's cringe. He sighed. "Fine, Caramon. Help me up."

His brother's massive hands scooped him up with no effort. His entire frame was completely supported in his brother's bearlike arms. The duet emerged from the tent into early morning fog, the light from the fire a glow through the thick haze. He could see Tas there, sitting cross-legged at Fizban's feet. The look of pure awe plain on his face as the old magician spun some tale about dragons for his eager ears. And Tanis was there, leaning against a tree. He looked disturbed and thoughtful. Raistlin smirked. When did Tanis not look disturbed?

The story discontinued as they drew near, both the kender and the mage turning to look at the approaching pair. As Raistlin's frail body was being lowered onto the ground near the fire, Tanis stepped forward.

"Enough waiting, old one. I think it's time you explained how you came to find us here."

"Well, you're eager enough, Half-Elven," came the reproach. "Too eager, I'd say. You have to learn to relax before your red beard turns grey. Always worrying."

"I think there's reason for worry this time, mage!"

"You're right there, my boy. You should be worried." He paused. "There are evil things on the roads again. More evil even than your skeletal guests of two days ago."

"Really?" inquired the kender. "Like what!?"

Fizban chuckled. "It's probably not something to be excited about, little one. People shouldn't have to be afraid."

"But I'm not afraid,' whined Tas.

"Of course not. It's what makes you so heroic and irrepressible."

_And annoying_, added Raist. But this was true, he knew, for kender could not feel the emotion of fear. It was one of their biggest shortcomings, their absence of fear often leading to danger. Or at least trouble, as that lack of fear was accompanied by incredible curiosity.

"The forces of darkness are moving again," Fizban once again addressed the group.

The silence was palpable. Everyone seemed afraid to breathe. Raistlin was overcome with another fit of coughing, his brother fussing over him like a mother hen. Raist's hand disappeared into his robes and came out with a small drawstring pouch. Caramon tossed it into the pot of boiling water he had been preparing since the story's beginning. Immediately, an awful, acrid smell permeated the fire. It seemed to bring Tanis' voice back.

"What are we to do, then?"

"Travel north, Tanis. We need to warn the Knights. They might be able to help us. We'll need their numbers. And probably the dragon's as well."

Tas' excitement was not contained well. He seemed about to explode from trying to contain his giddiness.

"And after? What do we do then, old man?"

Fizban's eyes hardened.

"We fight, Tanis. And we win."

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